


Love Language

by TheLadyFair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, EWE, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Love Languages, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), NCC, OOC, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, TheLadyFair, Wooing, marriage law, sevmione - Freeform, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFair/pseuds/TheLadyFair
Summary: Hermione Grang–er, Snape–is up to something. Severus notices his Ministry-Approved wife's unusual behavior and can't put a finger on what she's trying to do. When he realizes… well, he decides he'll just have to return the favor. A fluffy little six chapter fic featuring SS/HG. EWE, obvs, and NCC in many ways. Post Marriage Law. Possibly OOC. T for touching.





	1. Gift Giving

**.**

**Gift Giving**

**.**

Severus Snape strode into his quarters the same way he strode everywhere–purposefully with his robes billowing behind him. As soon as the door shut, though, he slipped the robes off his shoulders and hung them on a peg by the door. Running a hand through his hair, which had grown oily from hovering over hundreds of simmering cauldrons being stirred and slopped about by equally numerous but more putrid prepubescents, he turned back around intent on having himself a firewhiskey before settling in to some grading. He didn’t realize his wife was behind him until he’d all but bowled her over.

“Ouch!”

Automatically steadying his wife with a hand at her elbow, Severus frowned. “What are you doing home?”

She shrugged off his hand and smiled up at him. “It’s Friday. I work half-days on Friday, remember?”

He supposed he did. It was a memory at the far reaches of his mind where he tended to keep information that wasn’t immediately pertinent. _She works half-days on Friday_ was right beside _Minerva is boinking Moody_. Though they’d been married and sharing quarters for a couple of months now, Severus was still struggling to accommodate another human being into his life. After years of solitude and routine, he was a man set in his ways. Fortunately the Ministry had matched him with a witch who worked full time, was more than happy to stay out of his way when they were home, and made a decent cup of tea. Severus figured if he had to be married to anyone, at least it was someone who had grown out of being insufferable.

“I have grading,” he said, stepping around the witch.

She followed him. He couldn’t hear her socked feet padding across the room after him, but he could feel her presence just behind him as he settled into his chair–an old leather thing that had seen better years but, like a bad habit, he was loath to give up–and summoned his whiskey. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Severus pursed his lips when she set herself onto the very edge of the couch nearest him. She was nervous.

He took a fortifying sip of whiskey, closing his eyes to enjoy the burn of it down his throat and into his stomach, before addressing her. “Did you want something?”

“Oh,” she squeaked. Severus opened one eye to look glance at her–how could she be surprised when she’d followed him? “I suppose… er, yes. Yes.”

He waited. The silence stretched on and when it became apparent that his wife was not going to say anything further, he sighed and prompted her. “And?”

“You can do it. Just… just do it,” she whispered to herself. His eyebrow rose at that but before he could comment on the very un-Gryffindor-like pep talk, she was standing before him and pressing a box into his empty hand.

“I got you this,” she said, this time speaking to him. He smirked when he realized she couldn’t meet his gaze directly; she was staring at a point just above his right shoulder. Intrigued, he ran a finger over the brown-paper-wrapped package.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Don’t you want to open it?”

He arched his eyebrow and she gave in quickly. “Licorice wands.”

“Licorice wands?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she assured. “I thought… well, I saw them and I thought you might like them. They’re not too sweet and I really don’t know what you like and I thought–”

He pressed the box back into her hands and interrupted her. “I can’t take these.”

“Why?”

Severus blinked in surprise as she met his gaze with her own big, brown eyes. How odd that she couldn’t look him in the eye when giving him a gift but now, when she was asking a question, she could. He saw the moisture gather on her lower lashes and scratched the back of his head.

“I’m allergic.”

“Allergic?” she asked, her eyes widening even further.

He nodded. “To licorice.”

“Oh.”

The sound was a sort of sad-happy moan that barely escaped her parted lips and Severus took another sip of his firewhiskey. He could feel the pressure of a headache coming on and somehow knew it had nothing to do with the dunderheads he taught all day.

“Is that all Miss Granger?”

“Hermione,” she reminded him.

“Apologies. Force of habit.”

She nodded, still standing in front of him with the box of candies clutched between her two white-knuckled hands. Breathing deep, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and repeated his initial question.

“Will that be all, Mis–Hermione?”

“What?” she breathed, as though she hadn’t been aware she was still standing there. At his arched brow, she blushed a pretty pink and back-pedalled quickly. “Oh, oh yes. Of course. I’m sorry. Uh… happy grading.”

“Thank you,” Severus drawled, summoning the stack of scrolls from his desk. “Have a nice night.”

“Yes. You too.”

She padded out of the room and Severus plucked his favorite quill from the cup on the side table, unrolling the first abominable piece of homework from the pile and settling in to another night of being sorely disappointed by the current generation of students. As he scratched scathing remarks in over-wide margins–Mister Chapman was going to need to have a talking to about cheating for length–he missed the soft footsteps that returned to the door of the living room.

“Severus?” Hermione’s voice was hesitant.

He didn't look up from grading. “Yes?”

“Do you–that is… Um…”

“I don’t have all night,” he drawled as his headache surged again.

“Right,” Hermione said. “Sorry. I was just wondering, um, if there’s a type of candy you do like?”

He put down his quill and tilted his chin down, looking over his spectacles at his wife. “Candy?”

She smiled. “You know, like Chocolate Frogs or Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans or lemon drops. Something special that you could snack on while you’re grading. When I’m reading I sometimes like to have a stash of toffees nearby to nibble on. That kind of candy.”

What on earth was the woman on about? Severus rubbed the spot between his eyebrows where his tension headache was throbbing spectacularly and closed his eyes. “I don’t eat candy.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding an awful lot like a wounded animal. Severus’ scowl darkened–why did it matter to her if he ate candy or not? “That’s, well, that’s good to know. Goodnight, Severus.”

She padded back out of the room but before she rounded the doorframe, Severus found himself calling out to her. “Hermione?”

She paused. “Yes?”

Mentally berating himself for continuing their inane conversation, and wondering exactly what he was going to say to her, Severus opened his eyes again and met her gaze. In for a knut…

“I have it on good authority that the kitchen elves have been known to indulge in a licorice wand now and again.”

The smile she gave him was bright enough a blind man could have seen it and Severus couldn’t help but respond with a tilt of his own lips as she said, “thank you,” and disappeared around the doorway.

With a sigh, Severus banished the scrolls back to his desk and leaned back in his chair. He could feel his pulse like a hammer-strike between his eyes and knew that no more grading was going to get done that night. Especially not when all he could think about was his wife’s odd behavior and the brilliant smile she’d flashed him before walking away. Perhaps he had been too quick to dismiss her insufferable qualities.


	2. Quality Time

**.**

**Quality Time**

**.**

For an entire two weeks things settled back into normal. Or, at least, as normal as things could get with a wife underfoot. Hermione returned to their unspoken agreement of avoiding Severus at every opportunity and he relaxed considerably as things settled back into his comfort zone. Well, mostly. The witch  _ had _ taken to curling up in the corner of the couch with her own book while he graded or read in the evenings but Severus couldn’t find it in him to mind the small adjustment to routine as she remained, blessedly, quiet and out of his way. In fact, he’d almost gotten used to the way her breathing morphed into subtle snores when she succumbed to exhaustion and her book slipped from her fingers. And if the blanket he had summoned to cover her after one such instance had found permanent residence on the back of the couch, well, it was a nice, homey touch to the otherwise stark furnishings of his living room. He wasn’t quite sure when he decided he liked homey touches, but he supposed it was part of being married.

It was, therefore, a surprise when Hermione set aside her book with a too-loud thud one evening and turned her gaze on him. He could feel it like an itch between his shoulder blades but ignored it, hoping whatever fancy had taken his wife this time would pass. 

“Severus?” she asked.

“Hmmm?” he responded, not looking up from his own book. It was rare for him to have time to read anything unrelated to academia and he was enjoying the opportunity to indulge in his guilty pleasure of muggle mysteries. 

“Could we talk?”

The itchy feeling between his shoulder blades morphed into full blown panic and Severus set the book on lap, keeping his place with a finger pressed between the pages. He’d thought they’d be further along in their marriage before he heard _those_ _words_ from Hermione’s mouth. 

“Talk?” he responded with the same amount of dread as every husband who had ever heard the same request from their wife’s lips. 

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. 

“About what?” he questioned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. She didn’t look upset. But perhaps she was luring him into a false sense of security with innocent appearances. Tilting his head to one side, Severus contemplated that. Possibly. Though he couldn’t imagine Hermione being so conniving. That was really more a Slytherin thing. And his wife was nothing if not unabashedly Gryffindor. 

Folding her legs beneath her, Hermione rotated her body so she faced him from her seat on the couch. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” he responded. 

“You had sixth year double potions with the Gryffindors and Slytherins today, right?”

“Yes.”

“How did that go?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Severus tried to recall if he’d taken points off any of the Gryffindor’s that day. Probably. Could she have found out about it? Definitely. But why would that upset her? He tucked his tongue into his cheek. It shouldn’t, she had no personal relationship with any of the current students… Noticing Hermione’s smile fading, Severus realized he hadn’t responded to her question.

“It went,” he drawled cautiously. “As well as could be expected.”

Her smile returned and she leaned forward a little. Severus swallowed hard when he realized she was in a very revealing nightshirt. Her movement had exposed more of her cleavage than he was used to seeing. Had she always dressed like this around him? He didn’t recall seeing her dressed so scantily, but then again he hadn’t paid much attention to what she’d been wearing in the months they had lived together. Mostly he was concerned with whether or not she was in his way.

“Are you cold?” he asked. Summoning the blanket before she could respond, he leaned forward and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it up around her neck to cover every inch of exposed cleavage possible.

She chuckled and clutched the blanket tighter. “Thank you. What potion did you teach today?”

Leaning back into his chair, Severus blinked at her. Why was she drawing this torture out? Didn’t most women just like to say what was wrong and make the man grovel until she deemed her nagging sufficient? He huffed and wondered if he had gotten a broken wife. 

“Is there a point to this conversation?” he asked quietly.

She jerked back, blinking in surprise. Her smile faltered. “Oh… um, no. I just thought it would be nice to… talk. Get to know one another. You know.”

He did not. Tapping the book on his lap, he stared at her until she looked down at her own hands, buried among the folds of the blanket. At least he could still control her with a look. That boded well. As the silence stretched on between them, however, Severus felt the unusual desire to fill it. He frowned.

“Did you?” he asked before he could stop himself.  

Hermione’s head jerked up so quickly he was positive she might have snapped her neck. But she hadn’t, if her smile was any indication of the state of her vertebrae, and she responded quickly, eagerly. “Did I what?”

He licked his lips. Had her eyes always had flecks of gold in them like that? “Did you have a good day?” he said, shocked at the husky sound of his own voice. Was he coming down with something? He’d have an elf bring a pepper up potion before bed.

She beamed at him. The same smile she’d given him two weeks ago. It was much brighter now that she was sitting right next to him and Severus realized with a start that no one, in his entire life, had smiled at him with such sincerity. He rubbed at his chest, which felt suspiciously tight.

“I did, thank you,” she said. 

“Good,” he said, then lifted his book. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head and shrugged the blanket off to reach for her own book. It was then that Severus noticed the equally revealing pair of sleep shorts she was wearing. His gaze travelled over her bared legs, taking in the dips and curves of her muscles before he could stop himself. Clearing his throat, Severus buried his face behind his novel and tried to get lost in the plot. He  _ knew _ she’d never worn anything that exposed her legs like  _ that _ before. He would have certainly noticed.

For once Severus found his attention straying and he scowled at the pages, forcing himself to focus on the words even as the book lost its appeal. He’d known from page three that the killer was the butler. How could the idiot of a hero actually think Miss Mayweather had anything to do with it? As he read the interrogation scene, he got so caught up in his disgust for the dunderhead’s reasoning that he missed Hermione’s inquiry. 

“Severus?” 

She tapped his knee with her book and he jerked his head up, staring at her over the top of his own novel. “Yes?”

Hermione wasn’t looking at him, her nose was stuck back in her book, but Severus could see her fingers twitching and had a sneaking suspicion she was using the over-large volume to hide from him.

“Are you okay with this?” she asked, gesturing vaguely.

With what, he wondered. With her wearing hardly appropriate nightclothes in their living room? With their inane chatter during reading time? With the romantic subplot in his novel that was so overhanded he wasn’t sure he would actually make it through to the end? 

“ _ This? _ ” he asked simply, not wanting to reveal that he had no bloody idea what the witch was on about. Perhaps this is when the nagging would begin? He couldn't be sure. He’d never had a wife before. Hell, he wouldn’t currently have a wife if the Ministry hadn’t majored in meddling. 

Hermione shrugged and peeked over her book at him. “This,” she said, gesturing vaguely again. “You know. You, me, reading together. Is it alright that I’m here?”

How in the hell was he supposed to answer that question? Severus settled for shrugging and burying his nose back in his book. “It is,” he drawled, opting for honesty. Gryffindors liked that sort of thing. “Acceptable.”

She smiled again–he could tell just from the way her eyes turned squinty above her book. “I find it acceptable, too.”

“That’s–” he cleared his throat. Yes, he’d definitely need a pepper-up before the night was through. “That’s good then.”

Humming, Hermione returned to her book. Severus waited several minutes, turning pages automatically even though he was no longer reading the words. When he was certain Hermione was well and thoroughly engrossed in her book, he glanced over the pages at her. She was sitting there, her bare legs still curled beneath her, the blanket still pooled behind her from where she’d brushed it off, leaning ever-so-slightly in his direction as she devoured her book like a Weasley with food. A glimpse of her cleavage was visible in the gap between the book and her nightshirt and Severus gulped. Acceptable, indeed. 


	3. Acts of Service

******.**

**Acts of Service**

**.**

This time it was only five days before something went amiss in the Snape household. Severus had just enough time before dinner and detentions to get a start on some potions Madame Pomfrey had requested for the Hospital Wing. They were simple potions, ones he could do in his sleep if he had to, but he scowled as he stomped down the steps to the private lab beneath his quarters. He’d rather do anything with these two hours than brew boring, third-year potions. 

He noticed the lights in the lab were on before he made it fully down the steps and withdrew his wand without changing the speed or cadence of his approach. An old habit from the war. As he stepped into his lab, he saw a figure stooping over one of the crates of ingredients he hadn’t sorted yet and immediately reacted.

“ _ Petrificus Totalus,”  _ he murmured. 

The hunched over figure keeled over straight as a board and Severus made sure no one else was hiding in the room before approaching. Big brown eyes flecked with gold blinked back up at him and Severus pinched his nose as he released his wife from the body bind.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked.

She sat up and rubbed the back of her head. “Merlin, Severus. The war is over.”

He gave her a hand up and watched her cautiously as she swayed a little before righting herself. Glancing around, he noticed a couple cauldrons were cooling while another pair were part way through brewing. He pursed his lips.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked again. It seemed he was always repeating himself with this woman.

Hermione frowned at him. “Didn’t you get my note?”

“Note?”

She nodded. “My note. I left it on our door.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Oh,” she said simply. 

Severus stared at her, wondering if it was possible to will someone to answer the question you actually asked just by refusing to blink. After several moments Hermione shrugged and grabbed his hand. 

“That’s okay. Here, I’ve got it all set up.”

Obviously not. As she dragged him back toward the stairs, Severus dug his heels in. She spun around, her hand still warm where it clasped his fingers, and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Come on, Severus. I’ve had it all worked out. But the warming charms ’ll wear off the tea soon.”

Refusing to budge, he scowled at her and carefully enunciated every word. “What. Are. You. Doing. In my lab?”

“Oh,” she gasped and Severus flexed his fingers against her palm. If he heard that breathy little ‘oh’ one more time he might be tempted to–“I’m making the potions for the Hospital Wing.”

Stunned, he didn’t realize she was successfully pulling him along behind her until they were halfway up the stairs. He looked up to find her derriere, encased in a pair of muggle jeans so tight they had to have been spelled on, right in front of his face. Gaze raking up to her wild mane of curls before sweeping back down to her delightfully swaying posterior, Severus wondered just when in the ten years between leaving Hogwarts and becoming his wife Hermione had grown into such a lovely figure. Then he wondered when he had become so intrigued by lovely figures.

That train of thought was quickly swept away as they escaped the stairwell and he found himself staring over her head into their living room. It was set up just the way he liked, with a pot of tea on the coffee table and a snifter of whiskey next to his book. The fireplace was even flickering with a fire at that perfect stage between full blaze and glowing cinders and he noticed the blanket that had recently resided on the couch had been draped thoughtfully across the back of his chair. 

Hermione released his hand.

“Here. You sit down and enjoy your tea and whiskey. Read a little if you’d like. I’ve got to go add the powdered ginger root to the anti-nausea potion before it sits too long. There’s an alarm already set so you won’t miss dinner.”

She pushed him into the chair and Severus went willingly, looking around the room in astonishment before his gaze settled on his wife. “Why?” he asked.

Hermione smiled at him. It wasn’t her wide, blaringly bright smile that she’d gifted him before, but something far more subtle and… he would almost dare to call it intimate. He swallowed, hard.

“I just thought it would be nice if I helped out a little,” she said. “Besides, you didn’t finish your book the other night. I hate leaving a good plot right in the middle, don’t you?”

She pressed said book into his hands, bending over so her face was hovering just in front of his. Her breath, minty, puffed against his nose and sent a few lanky strands of hair skittering across his forehead before she stood back up. He rubbed a hand across the same spot.

“Do you need anything else before I go finish up in the lab?” she asked.

Shaking his head, he watched her walk out of the room as though nothing was out of the ordinary. His fingers tightened around the book as he, once again, stopped her before she made it through the doorway.

“Hermione?”

She turned. “Yes?”

He scowled and scratched the back of his head. “Use the candied ginger instead of powdered.”

Now she beamed at him. Severus felt his lips twitch back at her as she tossed her head and her riot of curls danced about her face. “That’s why your potions always tasted better,” she said.

He shrugged and reached for his glasses. “The sugar increases absorption threefold,” he lectured. “The taste is an… unfortunate side effect.”

Hermione giggled, a light tinkling sound that he found far less offensive than what his students produced, and muttered a quick, “of course,” before dashing off for the lab. Severus found himself staring at the spot she had vacated for several minutes before he remembered that he had a book to read and cooling tea to drink. And if he happened to be smiling just a little while he enjoyed his time not spent brewing third year potions, that was nobody’s business but his.


	4. Words of Affirmation

**.**

**Words of Affirmation**

**.**

It was another full week before his wife turned normalcy on its head. Or, rather, it was another week before Severus noticed what she’d done. Really, it was Peeves who brought it to his–and the entire student body’s–attention. Severus had been enjoying a nice steak and kidney pie for dinner, glaring at the rowdy Gryffindor table and ignoring Filius’ attempts at conversation, when he’d felt someone,  _ something _ , hovering right behind him. Before he could react, he was deafened by the high-pitched whine of none other than the Hogwarts poltergeist.

“The Grease is gone!” Peeves screamed. “The Grease is gone!”

“What the bloody hell are you on about you sad use of ectoplasm?” Severus sniped, spinning around in his chair to snarl at the non-ghost. 

Peeves looked as frightened as a first year facing their first exam and Severus narrowed his eyes. Had the damnable being dusted himself with flour? He certainly looked paler than usual, an impossible feat for someone of his non-blooded status. 

“The grease,” Peeves gasped out, panting like some kind of victim in a muggle horror film. “It’s… it’s… gone!”

The poltergeist’s words turned into a scream and he sped off across the Great Hall as though a pack of hellhounds were on his tail. Severus scowled darkly and returned to his meal. He’d half a mind to summon said hellhounds and really sic them on the irritating little–

“He’s right, you know?” Albus said cheerily from his right elbow.

“Right about what?” Severus snapped.

Albus smiled at him, that gods-forsaken half-smile complete with twinkling blue eyes. It made Severus feel like he was being teased. He hated being teased.

“Spit it out, old man, before you choke on it,” he drawled, stabbing a piece of flaky crust with his fork.

“Your hair, dear boy,” Albus said simply.

“My hair?”

“Yes, your hair.”

Was the old fool taking conversational lessons from Hermione? Severus abandoned his food and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about my hair?”

Albus blinked at him. “It… Well, it looks quite healthy nowadays. Have you changed your shampoo?”

“Changed my–” Severus started, his voice rising with outrage. He paused, though, as his mind finally cognated exactly what Albus had said. “What do you mean, healthy?” he asked, lowering his voice and casting a warning glare at any student or teacher who dared listen in.

Plucking at the cuffs of his powder blue robe, Albus steadfastly avoided Severus’ gaze. “Erm, it looks rather softer and shinier than usual. Less, erm, less greasy.”

_ The Grease is gone! _ So that was what Peeves was bloody on about. Running a hand through his hair, Severus realized it even felt less… oily than usual. He sneered and pushed away from the table.

“I’m so glad you’ve nothing better to do than pay attention to my grooming habits, old man. Perhaps you and Peeves can find some other epithet for me, since apparently Greasy Git is no longer fitting.”

Before Albus could stutter out empty placations, Severus stalked out of the Great Hall, robes billowing behind him. He headed straight for the dungeons at a clipping pace. He had a wife to find.

Slamming through the door to their quarters, Severus yelled for her. “Hermione!”

“Just a moment.” 

Her voice was distant and muffled and he stormed over to the door to his lab, yanking it open to come face to face–well, chest to face, she was rather shorter than he–with his wife. She was red-faced and huffing just a little, as though she’d run up the stairs when he called for her. Crossing his arms and towering over her, Severus curled his lip.

“What did you do to my shampoo?” he demanded.

“Our shampoo?” she parrotted.

He arched an eyebrow. She and Albus were definitely studying conversational techniques together. “No. My shampoo. The one I’ve used for twenty-three years. In the clear bottle on the second shelf in our bathroom.”

She beamed at him and pushed him out of her way. Her hair was in a ponytail today, he noticed, the curls hitched high up on her head leaving the graceful slope of her neck bared to his glare. He followed her to the kitchen where she set about making a pot of tea. 

Laying his hand over hers, he stopped her. “Quit stalling.”

Hermione squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “It was silly for us to have two shampoos. I dumped yours out and replaced it with mine.”

“You dumped it out?”

Ignoring the danger in his tone, she nodded merrily and pulled her hand away from his, finishing the process of preparing tea as she spoke. “Of course. I tried it, but it left a lot of residue behind. Besides, I pay six galleons to have mine custom-made. You remember Lavender Brown?”

His eye was twitching. He could feel it going berserk as he stared down at the curls on top of his wife’s head. “But it… it made my hair….”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Hermione turned, placing a hot cup of tea in his hands before picking her own up. Looking up at him through her long, dark lashes, she gave him that soft smile again. The one that made his insides twist and felt far too intimate for their relationship. Which was a marriage in name only.

“You have amazing hair, Severus,” she said. Chancing his wrath, she reached out and brushed a lock of it behind his ear. Her hand lingered for several seconds. “I don’t know why you hid it with bad shampoos for all these years.”

She liked his hair? He blinked at her and tilted his head as if she were a particularly difficult arithmancy problem. Really, he thought, that’s what she was. A problem he couldn’t solve. 

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he said finally.

Patting his hand before she pushed him back away from her–when had he pressed her against the counter?–Hermione agreed. “I know. You just didn’t know there was such a thing as a good shampoo. Now you do.”

He nodded, absentmindedly sipping the tea she’d pressed into his hands. It was exactly the way he liked it. Black with honey.

“I also bought you some new robes,” she said. 

Severus whirled around, shocked to find her right behind him. He tried to step back but found the counter pressed against his spine. Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip, staring up at him through those sinful lashes of hers as if deciding something. He was about to snap at her to get on with it, when she blushed–blushed!–and took a deep breath.

“You’re a brilliant man, Severus. A genius with potions, an artist with spells. You keep hundreds of idiot children safe around fire and boiling mixtures and lethal ingredients and you impart at least a sliver of your knowledge to them without even trying. But you’re also witty and sarcastic and lovely to talk to–” Hermione paused to breathe, to nibble that lovely pink lip of hers, and Severus sucked in his own breath, unaware he’d been starving for oxygen beneath her compliments. He’d been told he was brilliant before. But never in that voice. Never from someone who wasn’t trying to get something out of him. He brushed a stray curl behind her ear and she continued. “And you’re handsome. In your own way. I just wanted everyone else to see it, too.”

Before he could think of a coherent response, she was gone. Her and her compliments and her cute little cat mug full of the most delicious tea he’d ever tasted. He sipped at his own cup, swallowing tea alongside the lump that seemed lodged in his throat. Handsome? Did she really call him handsome? As that compliment settled over him like a warm blanket, Severus found his lips twitching. Maybe he didn’t mind the new shampoo after all.

“Oh,” Hermione peeked back into the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you?”

“Yes?” he asked, feeling like a giddy child being handed a present on Christmas morning. What else did she think about him?

She grinned. “Your Wolfsbane potion is bloody brilliant, too.”

He grinned back, not even caring that his teeth were as ugly as ever or that his smile was crooked from disuse. When his wife was staring at him with pride and, dare he think it, adoration so blatantly apparent on her face, it was hard not to respond. 

“Thank you,” he drawled. His voice was husky again but he knew it wasn’t cause for a pepper up potion. “Your Wolfsbane potion isn’t half-bad, either.”


	5. Physical Touch

**.**

**Physical Touch**

**.**

Four weeks passed without further incident and Severus found himself wondering if he’d imagined Hermione’s intrusions on his life. But then he’d see the blanket folded neatly across the back of the couch or find her robes hanging from a peg in his private lab, and he’d smile at the memory. She still read with him almost nightly and on Fridays he often found a note stuck to the door of their quarters, anti-theft and anti-Peeves wards in place, suggesting he relax in the living room with a book or check the oven for her baked-good of the week. When she’d figured out he enjoyed a good scone or muffin, Severus was pretty certain he’d never know. But her baking attempts, though occasionally half-burned, were appreciated and he often found himself splitting a scone with her while inspecting whatever potion she’d decided to complete for him. If he hadn’t taught her himself, he would have been upset to find she was almost as good at brewing potions for the Hospital Wing as he was. But he had, so complimenting her on the perfect viscosity of her skele-gro was really like complimenting himself on teaching her so successfully. 

The past week or so, however, he had noticed Hermione withdrawing from their times together. He’d peer over her shoulder to look at her potion and she’d stiffen before finding a reason to go to the other side of the lab or she’d set her book down early and bid him goodnight long before the fire had fully died out in the grate. Usually when he made it to bed himself, she was safely ensconced in the blankets on her side of the bed with her back to him. He’d wrap his own comforter around himself and wonder just what he’d done to screw things up with her long into the night.

It was, perhaps, the lack of sleep resulting from Hermione’s worrisome behavior that made Severus’ Thursday a particularly horrible one. At least, he could blame his irritability as the start of his troubles. The rest of the blame lay solely with Mister Chapman and his idiot class of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. By the time Severus made it back to his rooms, after sending a half dozen students to the Hospital Wing, passing out twice as many detentions, and putting out four fires, he was in a horrid mood. His best robes–a set Hermione had probably bought him as he didn’t recall ever owning anything quite as soft as these were–were destroyed. Half-eaten by whatever vile concoction a dozen partially-brewed cheering solutions had combined to create, the sleeves were charred from the fires he’d had to put out and they smelled like he’d rolled around in troll dung for a couple hours. 

He dropped them into a pile on the floor, certain that an elf or his wife would vanish the mess before he made it out of the shower. On his way to the bedroom, he shed his frock coat and toed off his shoes. He’d unbuckled his belt and was working on the buttons to his shirt by the time he’d pushed open the bedroom door. 

His hands stilled at the sound of her shocked voice. “Severus! I didn’t realize you’d be in this early.”

“Apologies. My third years had an accident and I’m afraid I need to shower before din–” He glanced up as he spoke and his voice died in his throat. 

The room looked the same as always. Two wardrobes, two nightstands, a single armchair and a four poster bed. But the bed no longer had two sets of blankets on it. One set–his, he noted–were spread out across the entire bed while the other were bundled in Hermione’s arms. All he could see of his wife above the pale green sheets and rumpled comforter was her big, brown eyes and that wild cacophony of curls. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, hands still clasping his half-open shirt to his chest.

Hermione gulped. He heard it. “Spring cleaning,” she said, her voice muffled.

Arching an eyebrow, he crossed the room and snatched the blankets out of her hands. He dumped them back on the bed and stared down his nose at her.

“It’s fall.”

If she had still been his student, he knew she would’ve fallen into his trap. But she wasn’t. She was his wife. And apparently four months in the same quarters had taught her more about him than seven years as his student had. She mimicked his expression, hands on her hips, not at all fazed.

“How silly of me to forget that one can only deep clean the house when flowers are blooming. Please, go take a shower and I’ll un-rotate the mattress and magick the dirt back under the rug.”

“Merlin’s wand, woman. I don’t give a damn if you scrub the stairs with your toothbrush every fifth Wednesday. I just want to know why there’s only one blanket on the bed.”

She smirked at him. “Because it’s come to my attention that the elves have been laundering both sets of blankets every week, which is double their usual chore. That’s absolutely ridiculous and I think we can both suffer  _ sharing _ the bedding to remove the unnecessary burden.”

Elves. He narrowed his eyes but didn’t dare say a word in opposition to her statement. There wasn’t a man nor woman within six-thousand miles of Hogwarts who didn’t know what Hermione Grang–er, Snape–thought about house elves. And he was not a stupid enough man to tackle that subject with her. At least not today. 

Shedding his shirt and dragging off his shoes he acquiesced. “Fine. You were the one who suggested two sets of bedding in the first place.”

“I–”

He waved his hand, dismissing whatever she was going to say next by simply talking over her. “No matter. I reek. And my head is pounding. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh,” she deflated almost instantly, her expression melting from hard to concern as she took a half-step towards him. She stopped, then nodded. “Okay. Why don’t I go put on some tea?”

He headed into the bathroom, discarding the rest of his clothes only once he was safely locked inside the privacy of their en-suite. Merlin’s beard. He stepped into the shower, uncaring of the ice-cold water that shot out almost instantly. It cooled his anger and his… shaking his head beneath the spray, Severus planted a forearm against the wall and let the water work its magic on his headache. 

They were going to be sleeping together. Technically they’d been sleeping together since their wedding night but it hadn’t felt like it. Not when they each were wrapped up in their own secure cocoon of blankets. But no longer. In less than six hours, he was going to slide into bed next to his wife and the only thing between them would be his boxers and her pajamas. Recalling the scant set of nightclothes she’d worn only a month or so ago, he gulped and turned the water colder. Surely she wouldn’t actually wear that to bed?

Banishing the thought, Severus set about making himself as clean as possible. When he was certain he didn’t smell like something the troll dragged in, he turned off the water and summoned his towel. Getting dressed in clean clothes, he headed out to the living room with his shirt unbuttoned. Tea was very much needed.

Hermione must have heard him approaching the kitchen because she called out before he made it to the door, “Just go to the living room, Sev. I’ll bring it in to you.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, veering towards the living room and opting to take a seat on the couch instead of in his usual chair. 

Within minutes, Hermione brought in the tea. She handed him a cup over his shoulder, which Severus thought was odd, and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Are you going to the lab?” he asked after his first sip. Gods the woman made great tea–he’d have to see if she bought a specific brand or something.

“No,” Hermione said. The hands on his shoulders flexed and relaxed. “Did you have a rough day?”

“Mister Chapman decided to experiment on his cheering solution,” he explained.

“Is that why your robes were beyond recovery?” she asked.

Nodding, he barely noticed Hermione rolling his traps between his fingers. “Idiot boy thought it was a good idea to sneak some armadillo bile into the mixture. Once his cauldron exploded, Hades broke loose and I sent a dozen students to the hospital wing.”

“Hmmm,” she soothed. This time he did notice Hermione’s hands. Mostly because they were brushing his shirt off his shoulders, down to his elbows where it caught, before returning to their ministrations. He froze, the cup of tea clenched between his hands as she stroked and massaged his shoulders. 

“How many did you send to detention?” He jumped in surprise at her question, almost spilling his tea, and leaned forward–away from her hands–to set the cup down. When he straightened, she returned to her efforts and he choked down a moan.

“You don’t want to know,” he said.

“Probably not,” she agreed, her hands wandering further down his back as if on a mission to hunt out and subdue every knot of tension that existed on his wiry frame. “Mister Chapman is a Gryffindor, isn’t that right?”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed, eyes drifting closed. Somehow he’d lost the ability to use his tongue between her petting his shoulders and digging her thumbs into a particularly nasty knot by his right shoulder blade. 

For a time, Severus could not have guessed how long, they were silent. Hermione’s hands wandered up and down the scarred flesh of his back, kneading and stroking his muscles into submission. He was more relaxed than he’d been in a long time and that thought alone would have terrified him if he’d had the ability to focus on anything except the feel of Hermione touching him. Slowly, her hands travelled back up to his shoulders, then over them, and slowly, slowly she traced them down his pecs. When her fingertips brushed the tips of his nipples, Severus jolted. 

She planted a kiss on the tender spot where his neck met his shoulder and her hands stopped moving. “Everything okay?” she purred.

“Her–Hermione, wh–?” Severus didn’t know what he was asking. What are you doing? Why did you stop? Where is this going? He couldn’t cognate anything except the gentle pressure of her hands on his chest and the tickle of her curls against his neck. Turning his head, he opened his eyes to see Hermione’s face right in front of him. Those gold-flecked eyes blinked at him, dark with desire, and she smiled sweetly. 

“What do you want, Severus?” she breathed.

You! The answer was so immediate, a gut-reaction, that he jerked back away from her and bit his tongue to keep from blurting it out. Hermione appeared startled before she too pulled away. One blink was all it took to wipe the desire from her eyes and she shook her head as if coming out of a trance.

“I’m–I’m sorry, Severus. I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” he asked, but she was already gone. 

Running his hands through his hair, Severus stared into the fire and tried to figure out just what the hell had happened. Hermione kissed him! He shrugged his shirt back on and shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. She’d kissed him. They hadn’t even sealed their marriage with a kiss, merely shaking hands after they signed the contract binding them together for eternity. What on earth had possessed her to–?

What was more upsetting was that she’d looked like she wanted more. Merlin,  _ he’d  _ wanted more. And if he was honest with himself, he’d wanted more for several weeks now. Somehow, without him realizing it, Hermione had become more than just another human sharing his space. She’d become…

His wife. 

Severus swallowed hard and reached for the cup of tea. Whatever had been going on the past month and a half had changed everything. No longer was he content with a wife who worked most of the time and avoided him the rest of it. He’d had a taste of more and, Merlin, he wanted it. He also knew that whatever it was that had just happened had likely undone it all. And that was something he wasn’t okay with. Not one bit.

So the only question remaining, Severus realized as he downed the last few sips of tea in a single gulp, was to figure out what in the hell he was going to do to keep things from changing back. Determined, he nodded to himself and banished the teacup to the sink. He had dinner to attend. And then while half the school sat in his detention scrubbing the crevice between every stone with their toothbrushes, he was going to research just how to make his wife, his wife.


	6. Snape's Response

**.**

**Snape’s Response**

**.**

Hermione had wooed him. Mauling his dinner into something that resembled upchuck instead of the delicious pot pie it originally was, Severus blocked out the inane chatter of the Head Table and debated how he was going to figure out how to woo her back. Asking advice seemed like an obvious course of action. The only issue was that he didn’t know who to go to. 

Glancing to his left, where Albus was merrily chatting away to Minerva, his elbow in a bowl of gravy, Severus shook his head. There was no way he was talking to the doddering old fool about his marriage. If the Ministry had mastered in meddling, Albus had been the one to apprentice them. And giving him even a hint that his and Hermione’s marriage was not yet real… well that was just asking to be locked in broom closets or dosed with the Weasley twins love products. No thank you.

Minerva was an option. After the war their relationship had… thawed considerably. And normally Severus wasn’t adverse to asking the older witch for advice about anything. But something told him that if he sought out romantic advice from Minerva he would have to hear about Moody’s sex prowess. Nothing in this world, not even Hermione naked and pliant beneath him, would be worth learning just how accomplished the ex-auror was in the sack. Just thinking about the conversation made Severus want to scrub his brain out with steel wool.

Books were his next option. Chasing a carrot around the plate with his fork, Severus obliterated the little round and stirred it in with the rest of the slop until it was orange no more. Madam Pince took old fashioned to a whole new level. Sure, she kept hundreds of dark and dangerous tomes locked just behind a gate that screamed, “sneak past me” to every student who had ever walked these halls, but Severus knew for a fact that she would consider even one book advising the horny little miscreants how to properly engage in their awkward, semi-sexual encounters too scandalous for her library. So unless he raided the private libraries of Albus or Minerva–which was, again, problematic–he was stuck without reading materials until the next Hogsmeade weekend at least.

“Aren’t you hungry, Severus?” Albus asked, nudging him with a gravy-ified elbow.

Severus scowled and pushed his plate away. “No.”

From his right, Hooch stuck her hawkish nose into the conversation. “Ooh, trouble in paradise?”

He turned his glare on her. Why couldn’t Filius be his dinner companion instead of Hooch? Filius was much quieter. Severus huffed. There was only one reason he could think of for Albus to put Hooch next to him for every meal of the term. He was being punished for something. 

“If by trouble you mean the idiot third years blowing one another up,” Severus drawled. “And by paradise you mean my classroom, then absolutely.”

Albus nudged him again, smearing gravy goop over his robes. “Don’t be silly, Rolanda. Severus and Hermione are getting on like two erumpents during mating season.”

Brow arching at the uncomfortable analogy, Severus made a sound in the back of his throat that he hoped sounded like assent. Minerva, fortunately, rescued him from further scrutiny of his sex life.

“Albus,” she scolded. “Don’t embarrass him. You know how private our Severus is.”

Yes, Severus thought sarcastically, because I’m just a little boy hiding his first crush from mummy and daddy. He gripped his fork tighter as Hooch ruffled his hair. His eye twitched.

“It probably didn’t hurt that the ministry provided that book list, though? Huh, Sevvy?” Hooch teased.

Now he was being nudged by elbows on both sides. But Severus was too busy ruminating on Hooch’s revelation to notice how much gravy was being spread upon his sleeve. Book list? What book list?

Albus puffed up like a peacock. Or, perhaps, like a firebird. Severus knew how Fawkes liked to preen. “I suggested that list, you know. The Ministry was just going to send out matches and let them go at it. But I told them they had to at least provide books for the couples to read. You can’t just throw a thousand wizards at strange witches and expect happy marriages to happen.”

“Agreed,” Filius piped up from Minerva’s side.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. This marriage law had turned the entire Head Table into a bunch of gossiping hens. Squawking ones. But there was a side benefit to their inability to keep their noses out of his business. He now knew the Ministry had suggested books for them to read. While he had chucked the entire match profile packet into the fire as soon as he’d read Hermione’s name–at the time only thinking of her obnoxious tendencies that, fortunately, had not stuck around–he had no doubt that Hermione had either kept her match packet  _ or _ bought and read all the books suggested. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to be seen buying marriage books in public after all.

“Ach,” Minerva’s brogue broke through his introspection. “The wee bookworms probably learned all the ins-and-outs of marriage and the bedroom in the first week. Every time I bring up those books, Alastor suggests… well, another activity.”

Glancing to his right, Severus was pleased to see that  _ that _ shut Hooch up. Clearly he wasn’t the only one with an aversion to thinking about Alastor in the buff. Pushing himself away from the table, Severus murmured his excuses before the conversation could get more graphic. Or worse, return its focus to his and Hermione’s bedroom life. 

On his way out of the hall, Severus sought Mister Chapman out of the unruly heads at the Gryffindor table. Staring at him, he willed the third-year to look at him. It was an old trick that he’d used when Potter was a student. Now he’d honed it to perfection with Mister Chapman and his idiot friends. When the boy looked up, Severus gave him a pointed glare and tapped his wrist. A not-so-subtle reminder about their impending detention. 

The boy blanched and Severus smirked privately, swooping out of the Great Hall with all the drama his robes could afford him. After the war he had briefly considered leaving teaching. But most adults simply didn’t exude fear the same way children did. And really, what good was living if he couldn’t give someone a good scare at least once a day?

* * *

 

Hermione was fast asleep on the couch by the time the third years had scrubbed every inch of floor with their toothbrushes. Surprised to find her in the living room this late, Severus covered her with the blanket, removed the book from her hands and carefully marked her place with a spare bit of parchment. She had bookmarks. He’d seen them on her desk and on the nightstand and even down in the lab. Once, he’d found a bookmark in the refrigerator–a lenticular depiction of a kitten in a teacup that changed to the kitten jumping out at you if you tilted it just the right way. However, despite the prolific collection of bookmarks his wife seemed to have, he’d never once seen one in a book. She tended to use whatever material was close and convenient to mark her place, much like he did, and that resulted in tissues and bits of boxes and small torn off corners of parchment stacked on almost every surface in their quarters. Always ready to save their place in a book.

Tilting the book on it’s side, Severus’ examined the spine, wondering if he might luck out and find one of the Ministry’s suggested marriage books.  Mating Rituals of the African Erumpent . Nope. He was looking for books leaning more towards the human persuasion. Laying the book on the coffee table, he made sure Hermione really was asleep before casting a  _ muffliato _ over her. Just to be doubly sure she wouldn’t hear him.

“ _ Accio _ marriage books,” he said. 

Nothing happened. 

He tried again.  _ “Accio _ relationship books.”

Again, nothing.

Scowling, Severus glanced down at Hermione and narrowed his eyes. If he was his wife and didn’t want his husband to find out he was reading books to improve their marriage, what would he have done? Gah, it hurt to even think that sentence. If he had been Hermione, he would have read the books at a library. There was no risk of being found out if he’d–no, she’d–done it that way. Rubbing the spot between his eyes that was thrumming with the start of a headache again, Severus sighed and sank into his armchair.

“ _ Accio  _ Hermione’s match packet,” he said.

A bundle of parchments flew out of her desk and Severus snatched them out of the air. Magically stoking the fire a bit for better light, he scanned the pages. None of them had a reading list on it and Severus almost thought Albus and Minerva and Hooch had been pulling his leg. But Filius had joined in. And Severus didn’t think Filius was the type to prank him about his marriage. Actually, given how attached all the staff were to Hermione, he doubted any of them would willingly jeopardize her happiness by teasing the Git of the Dungeons about his wife. He was shocked they thought his marriage was going along swimmingly, in fact. He’d half expected to be under siege from warnings and invasive glares. But surprisingly, the staff had accepted their marriage better than he and Hermione had.

Banishing the bundle back to Hermione’s desk, Severus leaned back in his seat and reached for the tumbler of whiskey that seemed to be perpetually available for him. He sipped it and realized that he’d gotten so caught up in trying to find books or advice on wooing Hermione he’d missed the most obvious solution to his problem.

Hermione had been trying to woo him for months. Surely she had tried things on him that she herself would have found romantic? Smiling genuinely for the first time since she’d cornered him in the kitchen and complimented him on his hair–and wolfsbane potion–Severus looked at his sleeping wife. He’d been a spy for half his life. Examining motives and behaviors was as ingrained in him as the recipe for a basic pepper up potion. All he’d need was a few hours and a pensieve and he could craft the perfect plan to woo Hermione. Using all her own moves against her. 

He leaned forward and gently patted her ankle. “You’re not even going to know what hit you.”

Though it only took Severus a couple days to find time for some pensieve diving, it took him another two weeks to formulate his plan and set it into action. He started small. Assigning his classes a project that would take them to the library for the day, Severus made sure he was in their quarters before Hermione on Friday. He smirked to himself as the floo flared to life and Hermione stepped out of it. Hermione worked half days on Friday

“Severus!” His name came out as a surprised gasp and she clutched a hand to her heart. “What are you doing home so early?”

He glanced over his grading at her and cast a spell to siphon the ash and soot from her clothes. “Remind me to have Tilly clean the floo.”

Hermione nodded and scratched the back of her head, staring at him as though he’d turned into a giant bat or had a boogy hanging out his nose. Fighting the urge to make sure the latter wasn’t true, Severus arched an eyebrow at her.

“Did you cancel classes for the day?” she asked, toeing off her shoes and sending them to the wardrobe with a spell. 

As she slipped out of her cloak–a lovely dark purple thing that reminded him of dragonfly wings with its delicate but not obtrusive pattern–Severus set his grading aside and shook his head. “They’re in the library working on projects. I’ve got a charm on the office if anyone needs me.”

“Oh,” she said, and he smiled at the familiar word. “That’s nice that you get a little time out of the classroom.”

Standing and taking her coat from her, he hummed his agreement. “Don’t let me interrupt your afternoon. I was just going to take care of some grading and then take a shower before dinner.”

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word as though it was a question. 

As he swept out of the room to hang her cloak up for her, Severus heard Hermione muttering to herself and grinned. He had to shake himself out of it and school his features back into his customary scowl before peeking back into the room. Hermione was still standing where he’d left her, head tilted to the side and a line creasing her forehead as she stared at his empty seat. 

“I left some toffees on the coffee table for you,” he drawled.

Hermione practically jumped out of her skin at his voice. Wide-eyed, she stared at him and then looked down at the silver-wrapped box sitting in the middle of their coffee table. 

“Toffees?” she asked.

“Toffees,” he affirmed. “You said you liked to eat them when you were reading.”

“I–yes,” she agreed, her brow furrowing further. “But… you got me some?”

“Yes,” he said. “Is that alright?”

“Yes.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back, just a small smile that hid at the corner of her mouth. “I promise I didn’t place a hex on the box.”

She chuckled and swept the silver-wrapped package off the table, running her fingers over the crimson ribbon with a sort of reverence that made his stomach roll over. She had touched him the same way when she’d given him a massage. Would she do so when they consummated their marriage as well?

“On second thought, I think I’ll take my shower now.”

He turned to go and Hermione stopped him with his name. “Severus?”

Looking over his shoulder at her, he arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She blinked at him, practically glowing with joy as she pulled the bow loose on her present and lifted the top off. “Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze only after she’d selected a wrapped toffee from the box. “For the toffees.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

“And,” she said before he could escape to the shower. “And for remembering.”

He smirked and inclined his head. “How could I forget?”

At her sharp intake of breath, Severus took his leave. He made it to the bedroom before chuckling darkly and pulling off his cravat. If he had known a box of toffees would make her look at him like  _ that _ , he would have bought stock in the damned candies. Shedding the rest of his clothes and banishing them to the hamper, he strode naked into the bathroom perhaps a little too proud of himself. Step one in Project Woo Wifey had gone off without a hitch.

* * *

 

Three nights later, Severus followed Hermione to bed at a time he considered to be far too early. But he wasn’t going to complain. Nope, not tonight. As they each curled up on their own side of the bed–he had been worried Hermione would put her blankets back on the bed after she ran from him but she’d stuck to her guns about not giving the elves more to do and they now shared a comforter–Severus waited until she muttered  _ nox _ to roll onto his side and face her.

“Hermione?” he asked in a low voice.

“Hmmm?” she replied.

“Did you have a nice day?”

“A nice day?” she parrotted.

He nodded, then realized that in the darkness of the room she probably couldn’t see him. At least, not until their eyes adjusted. So he grunted his affirmation.

“Um, I guess so,” she said hesitantly.

The bed shifted beneath him, the blankets pulling across his body, and suddenly he could feel her breath, warm and minty from her nighttime tooth care regime, across his face. He smiled and reached blindly for her curls, finding one and tucking it behind what he thought was her ear.

“Did Stevens give you shit again?” he growled. She’d occasionally complained about a coworker who did nothing but belittle her and then take credit for her work when the boss praised it. While Severus didn’t really know what it was Hermione did at the Department of Mysteries, he did know that Stevens was a little shit who deserved to be run over by a dozen hippogryphs and sold to the goblins.

There was potential that his opinion of Stevens was biased.

Hermione shrugged, her movement visible now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She was wearing a very modest silk pajama set that Severus had struggled to keep his hands off of when she’d stepped out of the bathroom in it. Even though it covered almost every inch of skin on her, the texture and the way it clung to her curves was enough to drive a man wild. Even now, in the darkness of the room, he could see it shining just ever so slightly with whatever light managed to penetrate their dungeon quarters.

“He’s just jealous, I think,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” Severus replied.

She shrugged again. “No. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about leaving the DOM.”

Arching an eyebrow, Severus pursed his lips. “Not because of Stevens?”

“No, yes. N-no.”

“Which is it, Madame Snape, yes or no?”

“No,” Hermione clarified. “He’s part of it but I’m just not feeling… when they hired me it was all mysterious and promised great opportunities to study new magicks and all sorts of things. But really all I do is shuffle paperwork around and restructure outdated policies.”

Growling his understanding, Severus took a chance and trailed a hand over her shoulder. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat but she didn’t pull away so he let his hand rest there, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against the material of her shirt. He’d been right, it was very, very silky.

“You need a challenge,” he said. “Do you know what you’d like to do instead?”

“Mmmm,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to look into library arts.”

That was as surprising as a Weasley reproducing. Severus smirked and brushed another curl away from Hermione’s shoulder before withdrawing his hand from her. Fluffing his pillow, he rolled onto his back and decided to let Hermione in on one of Hogwarts’ not-so-well-kept secrets.

“Madam Pince has been looking for a replacement for years.”

“Don’t tease me, Severus,” Hermione admonished.

He hunted down one of her hands beneath the blankets and threaded his fingers through hers. Rubbing his thumb across her palm, he said, “I would never tease you about something as serious as library arts, Hermione. Put in your notice at the DOM tomorrow. I’ll talk to Madam Pince about setting up an official apprenticeship.”

“Shouldn’t I wait to put in my notice?”

He rolled his head to the side and caught the glint of her eyes in the darkness. “Do you want to stay at the DOM?”

“No.”

He nodded. “Then don’t. It’s not like we have an estate to keep up. It’s just you and me. We will be fine until you find something you want to do. But if Irma doesn’t take you on, I’ll go over her head. Albus is getting antsy now that he’s not orchestrating the downfall of a Dark Lord. He needs somebody’s business to twinkle at.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated. “Because you’re my wife.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

He smiled and released her hand. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

The bed shifted and the blanket went through a round of tug-of-war before they were both settled in and comfortable for the night. As Severus grinned into the darkness, Hermione reached out to touch his back. 

“Goodnight, Severus.”

* * *

 

On Tuesday, Severus made sure all his detentions were scheduled with Filch or Hagrid. He and Hermione had been married for about six months now and in all that time they’d never shared a meal together. Severus always went to the Great Hall for meals and Hermione fed herself either at the Ministry or by cooking at home. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what she ate. Perhaps it had been a bit negligent of him to assume Hermione was feeding herself, but it wasn’t as though she’d expired on him. So she had to be getting sustenance somewhere.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Severus returned to the plan at hand. Project Woo Wifey, step three. For tonight, Severus had dinner planned.

He stopped by the library to pick up Madam Pince’s apprenticeship offer for Hermione–the elderly witch had been so excited at the prospect of having Hermione back in her library, Severus was sure the papers had been drawn up before he'd even left that morning–before sweeping through the halls and mentally preparing a list of ingredients in his mind. He hung his robe on the peg just inside the door and toed off his shoes before banishing the apprenticeship offer to Hermione’s desk and getting to work. 

Starting in the bathroom, Severus drew a bath and placed a temperature charm on it to make sure it didn’t get cold before Hermione got home. He added a couple of her favorite oils to the water and made sure their shampoo and her soap were within arms reach of the tub, along with a fresh wash cloth. A flick of his wand set the rest of the bathroom to order and he left the door cracked on his way out. 

In the bedroom he set a pair of modest pajamas out for his wife–a pale blue this time–and slipped off his frock coat and cravat. Rolling up his sleeves, he made sure nothing was out of place in that room before wandering down the hall. Here and there he’d cast a cleaning charm but for the most part their home was spotless. Neither he nor Hermione were neat freaks by any stretch of the imagination, but they both appreciated a certain level of order that kept their quarters in check. Plus, Severus was pretty sure the house elves liked to see how much they could clean without tipping Hermione off to their presence.

He stoked the fire in the living room, making sure he charmed the teapot to keep its temperature and set out her favorite cat mug with cream and sugar at the ready. Folding the blanket over the back of the couch, he  _ accio’d _ Hermione’s current reading pleasure,  Bulgarian Politics of the 1720s , and sat it on the table by her toffees. He had been slowly restocking the box as she consumed them and thought he was being sneaky enough that she hadn’t noticed yet. She would eventually. There was no way he could convince her the box provided endless toffees. But for now he was enjoying the sneakiness of it all.

In the kitchen, Severus tied back his hair, set the table with the fancy plates he’d borrowed from the elves and some candles, and summoned his ingredients and cooking utensils. Setting up the counter the exact same way he liked to arrange his potions station, Severus took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Cooking was something he’d learned out of sheer necessity as a child and, while he didn’t enjoy it the way he enjoyed brewing potions, he was adept enough not to burn their meal to death.

And, just to be on the safe side, he’d chosen to make rice and Chicken Tikka Masala. It was hard to screw up a dish he’d been making on his own since age six. And this time he didn’t have to hunt down and kill one of the neighborhood chickens in order to cook it. 

He was just putting the rice on the stove when Hermione knocked on the doorframe behind him. Setting the pot to boil, he turned around and smiled at her. She looked frazzled but content.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It will be dinner in about,” Severus glanced at the chicken and nodded. “Forty minutes.”

She entered the kitchen, peering around him at the simmering sauce and boiling rice. Sniffing appreciatively, she raised her eyebrows and stepped back.

“Chicken Masala? Did you know that was my favorite?”

“Lucky guess,” he admitted. They’d never dined together, he had just hoped she ate chicken and didn’t mind a little spice. “How did it go today?”

Hermione blew a curl out of her face and scowled. “Horrible. My boss didn’t appreciate my resignation and when Stevens suggested I not bother coming back, he agreed.”

“Do I need to go pack your office for you?” Severus secretly hoped he would. If he figured out which wizard was Stevens, he’d be sure to leave a parting hex on Hermione’s behalf.

She shook her head and withdrew a toy-sized box from her pocket. “Already done.”

A missed opportunity. Oh well. Severus glanced at the rice and lowered the heat before he took the box from her and slipped his free hand into the collar of her robe. Shrugging out of her robe, Hermione let him take it from her and closed her eyes.

“Please tell me I have an apprenticeship to look forward to?”

He nodded. “The papers are on your desk for you to look over later.”

“But–”

He cut her off before she could expound upon all the reasons she needed to read them right now. “I drew you a bath. Go, have a nice soak and wash your hair. By the time you’re all pruny, dinner will be ready. Once your relaxed and fed, you can review Pince’s terms.”

Gaping at him, Hermione tilted her head to one side and squinted her eyes as though he was a particularly difficult runic puzzle she was trying to solve. Severus brushed past her to hang up her cloak and resized her box of work supplies. It was suspiciously light. Peeking inside, he noticed there were only a handful of items in there. A picture of her old cat, Crookshanks, a set of very nice quills that he was pretty sure Albus had gotten them as a wedding present, and a picture of them on their wedding day. Picture Severus was scowling at the photographer–Minerva, if he remembered correctly–and Hermione was pale, even against her white sundress, but was attempting a smile. Severus brushed a finger over the photograph, an odd warmth in his heart at the idea that she’d thought it important enough to keep on her desk at work.

“Severus?”

Jerking his head up, Severus found Hermione standing directly in front of him. He set the box on the ground beneath their cloaks and met her scrutiny with a blank expression.

“Don’t you have a bath to get to?”

Hermione shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?” he repeated.

She pursed her lips but he thought he saw a smile trying to escape. “Dinner, the bath, the apprenticeship.”

He grinned, flashing his teeth in a manner that one might call predatory, and stalked slowly towards Hermione. With his every forward step, she backed up two. 

“I thought it would be nice if we had dinner together,” he drawled. “And, after our conversation last night, I figured you’d like to have a nice relaxing evening where you didn’t have to think about that jackass Stevens and your boss, Mister I-Can’t-Think-For-Myself.”

This time she did smile and Severus felt flush with victory that she appreciated his joke. Even if he hadn’t quite meant it as one. When her back hit the wall, however, her smile faded and she stared, wide-eyed, up at him as he stopped with only inches left between them.

“Is that alright?” he asked, his voice gaining that husky quality that he realized was entirely due to his attraction to his wife.

“Yes. But I don’t really need–Eeee!” Her words turned to a squeal as he hoisted her over his shoulder and strode towards their bedroom. She beat her hands against his back and demanded to be let down, but Severus ignored her.

“You may not need it, but I drew you a bath and you should enjoy it,” he said, slamming into the bedroom and kicking the door closed behind him. He didn’t want to give her an escape route.

Setting Hermione down on her feet, he dropped his chin and stared at her over his glasses. “Do I need to strip you and carry you into the bath?”

She squeaked and paled, and then a lovely blush chased its way across her cheeks. “I–I think I can handle it.”

Reaching out, Severus teased the button at the top of her blouse open, smirking when she whimpered at the intimate gesture. “If you’re sure,” he drawled.

Hermione licked her lips and leaned into his touch even as her words said the opposite. “I’m sure.”

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, giving her a little push to propel her towards the bathroom door. “Then go, before the temperature charm wears off. I laid out your pajamas for you and will let you know when dinner’s almost ready.”

Hermione stumbled into the bathroom, staring over her shoulder at him in shock. Severus didn’t leave until she shut the door and he heard the gentle click of the lock. Chuckling to himself, he headed back to the kitchen to grill up the chicken and finish the sauce. He’d probably need to place stasis charms on the food to give her enough time to have a nice, long bath, but he figured that would give him enough time to tame his raging libido and put away her stuff from the office. He wondered if she’d be okay with hanging their wedding photo above the fireplace.

* * *

 

When Hermione emerged from her bath an hour later, Severus had slipped into a comfortable pair of lounge pants and had drawn a dressing gown around his bare chest. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable being the only one in their pajamas at the dinner table. She slipped into the chair across from him, her hair pulled over one shoulder and dripping a lovely dark trail down her blue satin pajama top. Fighting not to stare at her beaded nipples, Severus removed the stasis charms from their food and gestured for her to eat.

“I hope you weren’t joking about liking Chicken Masala,” he said.

She shook her head, too busy tasting her first forkful of rice and chicken to answer him. He waited for her hum of approval before digging into his own meal. For a time they both ate and enjoyed companionable silence. Severus reveled in that. It was rare, he’d discovered, for people to be comfortable with silence. Most people tried to fill the void with all manner of silly chatter. But between himself and Hermione, silence almost never felt uncomfortable. It was a blessing, he believed, that would keep them from killing one another over the long haul.

As he took his first sip of elf-made wine to clear his throat, he appreciated the way Hermione ate heartily. She wasn’t messy about it, like Hagrid and some students tended to be, but neither did she approach her meal like a bird, pecking at it as though fearful that taking too big a bite would immediately translate to pounds on her thighs. She simply enjoyed the food. And he found that incredibly charming.

“Once you’re apprenticeship is approved, we’ll get to have more meals together,” Severus said.

“Hmmm?” Hermione hummed around a mouthful of food. She finished chewing, swallowed and had a drink of her own wine before clarifying. “In the Great Hall?”

“It’s traditional for apprentices to sit beside their masters but I’ve been forced to listen to Hooch go on about flying and quidditch for almost half the year and I think I can convince Albus that it’s only right if I sit by my wife.”

Hermione blushed at his words and quickly stuffed a piece of chicken in her mouth as though she wished to avoid blurting out whatever was going on in her mind. Leaning back in his seat, Severus stared at her through half-lidded eyes, trying not to scare her off as he sipped his wine and enjoyed the simple pleasure of dining across from someone.

“Then again,” he drawled. “Perhaps we should have intimate dinners like this more often. I could get used to sitting across from you in the candlelight.”

“Oh?” Hermione whispered. 

Gods, he loved how she said that word. It carried so many different meanings and had so many lovely inflections. He hoped that soon, very soon, he would get to hear it cascading off her tongue or groaned into his ear in pleasure. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, watching her carefully to make sure he didn’t spook her. “And brilliant. You were wasted in the DOM.”

Severus didn’t know Hermione could turn so red. And he hadn’t had any idea that her blush went that far down. With the top button of her nightshirt undone, he could see her blush all the way from her hairline to her collar bones. He wondered just how far down it might go. 

“You don’t think,” Hermione took a sip of her wine to wet her palate. She licked a drop of the liquid off the rim and averted her gaze from his. “You don’t think that I’ll be wasted as a librarian?”

“Gods no.” He leaned forward and captured her hand in his. “You love books. You love to learn. And being a librarian is those things. But you’re also a helper. You’ll get to share your knowledge with children who actually need it. Your knowledge of obscure texts like  The Mating Rituals of the African Erumpent will finally be put to use when some third year comes to you the day before a six foot scroll is due for their Care of Magical Creatures class. And working in a magical library isn’t just shelving books and directing traffic. Your magic is needed to keep everything in balance. Without a librarian, the entire collection could destroy itself.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “What if I do it wrong? What if I destroy the whole library because my magic isn’t strong enough?”

Sensing that it wouldn’t be good to laugh in her face at the absurdity of that statement, Severus bit his tongue and counted to fourteen. He’d known his wife hadn’t been appreciated for her brilliance by her friends or coworkers, but he hadn’t realized how much that had translated into self doubt. Stroking his thumb across her knuckles, he promised himself that he would never be in the category of people who didn’t appreciate Hermione for who she was ever again.

“Hermione, look at me,” he said. When her gold-flecked eyes met his, he lowered his occlumency shields. She needed to know he was being 100% honest. “You are the most powerful witch I have ever met. You’re not only powerful, but you have the brains to back it up. Madam Pince will not hand the library over to you until you are good and ready, but never doubt that you are capable of controlling the Hogwarts library or any library in the world. I will not be surprised when the collection flourishes under your hand.”

There were tears in her eyes and Severus almost cursed himself. But then he saw her smile. It was the one that made him feel like they were alone in the world. The smile that said she thought he was pretty amazing. The one that made his stomach clench and his blood flow straight south. Hermione squeezed his hand.

“Severus, what are we doing here?” she asked.

The question was bigger than she made it sound. Severus knew she wasn’t asking about dinner or his compliments or her future. She was asking about all of it. Her wooing of him, his reciprocation, what was going to happen between them in ten minutes, two months, and a hundred years. Standing, Severus circled the table and drew Hermione up to her feet. She bit her bottom lip and he lifted his hand to brush his thumb against it. Gently, he plucked it from the punishment of her teeth and bent closer so they were looking one another dead in the eye.

“Go sit on the couch, wife,” he commanded.

Her pupils exploded, overtaking the brown of her eyes, and she nodded, backing away from him before she turned on her heels and fled like a pack of hellhounds were on her heels. Severus watched her go, appreciating the cling of her pajamas bottoms to her lovely bottom. With a few quick spells, he cleaned up the kitchen and doused the candles. Nerves overtook him as he stared out the doorway to the living room where his witch was waiting for him. There was only one more step in his plan. If he didn’t win her now…

Shaking his head, Severus squared his shoulder and slipped off his robe. She wanted him. He’d seen it. And Merlin and the Fates and every bloody god from here to Toronto knew that he wanted her, too. It was about time they made this marriage real.

* * *

 

Hermione startled when his hands settled onto her shoulders. Severus rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles across her muscles until he felt her relax beneath his hands. Then he pulled out his secret weapon. Her hairbrush.

Circling the couch, he took a seat next to Hermione, ignoring how she tensed up again, and slowly turned her so she was facing away from him. He slipped his fingers under her still-damp hair and drew it back over her shoulder. Fanning it out over her back, he started at the bottom and began the long process of untangling her curls. He was gentle and patient and Hermione’s silence turned to muted, appreciative sounds that sounded suspiciously like moans.

“Where did you learn to brush hair like this?” she murmured as he carefully worked out a particularly nasty knot. 

“My mother let me brush her hair when I was a boy. She didn’t have as many curls as you, but her hair was thick and we often couldn’t afford soap or shampoos so it got quite tangled.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione sighed and leaned back towards him. “Was she pretty?”

“My mother?” he asked.

“Mmhmm.”

He shrugged and started working on a second section of her hair. “I take after her if that tells you anything.”

“Regal, then,” Hermione said. “She probably had the best ‘you’re in trouble, buster’ look ever.”

“Actually,” Severus furrowed his brow as he tried to remember his ma. It had been so long since he’d thought of her in any way except to curse her for his lot in life, it was hard to remember what she’d been like when fear and hatred of his father wasn’t overshadowing their relationship. “She did. But she also had the best smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight. Of course, her father never kicked her jaw.”

Hermione made a sound of pity and Severus set the brush aside and clasped her shoulders. “Don’t,” he warned.

She nodded. “Sorry. I just wish you’d had a perfect childhood. I wish every child could have a perfect childhood.”

He picked the brush back up, done with the knots but wanting to smooth out her hair so he could plait it. “Well, it wasn’t bad. Except when it was. And then it was horrible. But it was my childhood and it shaped me.”

“And I couldn’t imagine you not being you,” she admitted softly.

He separated her hair into five sections. He’d never gotten the hang of a four-strand braid, but the five-strand had a lovely rhythm to it and he enjoyed the challenge of wrangling so many strands at once. He summoned a tie and rolled it onto his wrist before he began to braid. Left, right, outer, outer. Left, right, outer, outer. 

“So you had the perfect childhood?” he asked once his fingers loosened up and remembered how to braid.

“Yes and no,” Hermione said. “My parents both worked, so I was alone a lot. But they also love me deeply. I just… I think I missed out on a lot of my childhood because I grew up so quickly. Maybe it was just me and I would have done so no matter who my parents were but I think that mum and dad also encouraged me to work so hard and excel beyond my years. They were very proud of me. Before Hogwarts they had my whole life planned out.”

He finished the tail of the braid and deftly looped the tie around it. Tilting his head, Severus figured it looked alright. He’d have to practice before he let her out of their quarters wearing one of his braids, though.

“Let me guess,” he said, pulling Hermione back against his chest. The satin felt  _ very nice _ against his skin. “You were going to Oxford to be a lawyer.”

“Doctor,” she corrected. “But close enough.”

“Mmmm,” he agreed. “And after the Hogwarts letter came?”

She laid her head against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her chest, one above and one below the swell of her breasts. Setting his chin on the top of her head, he waited for her to gather her thoughts.

“At first they were proud. But eventually my magic became a wedge between us. And then the war came and… well, my parents don’t even know I exist anymore.”

Her emotions were reigned in but Severus could almost feel them thrumming just beneath the surface. He pulled her tighter against himself and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hermione said. “We all have burdens. Some are lighter than others but they exist nonetheless.”

“Hmmm,” he agreed. “Am I one of your burdens, Hermione?”

She shook her head. “Am I yours?”

Releasing his hold on her, Severus pressed her shoulders until she turned back to face him. Without her curls in their riotous halo around her face, she looked strangely vulnerable. Her big brown eyes blinked up at him and he brushed his knuckles across her cheek.

“Not anymore,” he promised.

Leaning closer, he kept his eyes open and gave her every opportunity to back away. Hermione simply stared at him, though. The pink left her cheeks but she held resolutely still as he closed the gap between them. Curling his hand beneath the braid at the back of her neck, Severus ghosted his lips across hers.

“I’m going to kiss you for real, Hermione,” he said. She nodded and he pressed his lips, briefly, against hers before continuing, “And then I’m going to carry you to our bedroom and we’re going to consummate our marriage. Is that alright?”

Her lip quivered but she nodded. Severus massaged the muscles in her neck and narrowed his eyes.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his lips barely brushing hers with every syllable. “I won’t be a monster who forces his wife.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I want to kiss you.”

“And?” he prompted.

Hermione’s eyes were as dark as his, her desire having blown her pupils wide. She pressed her lips against his boldly, running her tongue over his bottom lip before pulling back and curling her fingers around his neck. 

"I want you to make love to me," she said, punctuating her statement with a kiss.

"I want you to claim me as yours."

Another kiss.

"I want to spend so long exploring one another's bodies that the morning sun is what tells us to go to bed."

Kiss.

"And I want to fall asleep in your arms and never again wonder if you'll ever love me."

Kiss.

Growling, Severus scooped Hermione into his arms and stood up in one fluid movement. He claimed her lips with his own, never once closing his eyes as he watched her melt beneath his kiss. When her eyes finally fluttered open, he smirked at her.

“It appears your pajama top is defective,” he murmured.

“Wha?” Hermione glanced down as he headed towards their bedroom and gasped when she realized all her buttons were undone. Clasping the sides of her top together, she wriggled against him as if to get free. He simply held her more tightly. “Where on earth did you learn a spell like that?”

Severus arched an eyebrow at his wife and dumped her onto the bed. “You didn’t think I did up all those buttons on my frock coat by hand every day, did you?”

Before she could reply, he followed her onto the bed and captured her mouth again. Soon, Hermione was so engaged in snogging him, she didn’t realize he had spelled off all the rest of their clothing, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading Love Language. I hope you enjoyed this short little story. For my current WIPs, you can find me on Fanfiction.net under the pseudonym, The Lady Fair. I will publish any MA or completed works here, excepting some of my one-shots.  
> Blessings.


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